Whatever a Moon Has Always Meant
by puffpygmy
Summary: When one of the lifeboats is sent out to retrieve survivors, Mr. Barnes is saved from the frigid waters of the North Atlantic. Just as it seems he's met his end, he and Miss Watson are given a second chance.


_A/N:_ Firstly, I wanted to say a big hello and thank you to anyone who reads this! This fic has been in the works for almost exactly a year now, ever since I first watched the Titanic mini-series. I've yet to understand why, exactly, but for some reason it just kills me to leave the Barnes/Watson pairing the way it ended on the show. I think they would've had potential for quite an epic story line in a show like _Downton Abbey_ or some such, and while I certainly can't give them anything close to that I'd like to give them as much love as I can :)

I've been writing this chapter for a year now, so who knows when the next one will be out. But if anyone out there is like me and desperately wants to see this little ship from a show no one really knows or cares about anymore patched up and sailing along, please join me for the ride!

* * *

 _April 15, 1912_

Kenneth Barnes had never been a particularly strong swimmer. That's why he'd spoken with such utter resignation and sincerity when making his last request of Miss Watson to . . ."think of him sometimes"? He could've kicked himself. Was that really the best he could do? He'd been trying to say goodbye, amongst-well, other things. But those other things just wouldn't come out, no matter how much he wanted them to. And now it was too late, and he'd never see her again. A large pang ripped through his stomach at that though.

Now he, along with a mass of other men, clung to the slippery white belly of an overturned lifeboat. His fingers felt like cold steel upon it, else he knew he'd slip right down into the bottomless mouth of the ocean. Whatever bit of rational thought he had left kept reminding him to keep his chest out of the water. That would certainly keep him alive a little longer, right? What knowledge he lacked in swimming he made up for in common sense, he thought wryly.

Miss Watson. Though he was sure it didn't translate to his numb and trembling mouth, he smiled inwardly when he thought of her knowing eyes and the sad, small quirk of her lips when she'd nodded that, yes; she would think of him. And he believed she would. Mabel Watson never broke a promise. That was just the kind of woman she was. He just hoped she knew how highly he thought of her.

Oh, damn it. Damn the whole bloody thing. Damn the ship, damn the iceberg, and damn himself for letting Miss Watson nudge her way into his heart before he could even think twice about it. And damn the whole bleeding world for tearing them apart before they could even think of having a chance, for there was no question that he would die tonight. At least he could say that he had helped her . . . had made her future that much easier.

It would only be a little while longer now. He was starting to get quite tired, really. It'd be nice to get a little shut eye and forget where he was and what all had happened. Perhaps he would just close his eyes for a while.

His cheek rested on the thin layer of salty water sloshing up on the boat. His eyelids, stubborn little blighters they were, wouldn't quite close completely. Ah, well. All the better to gaze at that fuzzy yellow speck shooting around in the darkness, slowly making its way over to him. Almost pretty, that. Although it soon got so close that it was blinding, finally forcing his stubborn eyelids shut to protect him. Once the light was almost unbearable, he felt a sensation of being lifted and dragged a short ways before landing in a heap on top of something hard and dry.

At least it wasn't more water.

* * *

Mabel clutched the hastily scribbled letter to her chest, her tears coming freely now. The rescue boat had gone out to check for survivors one last time, but she daren't let herself hope, even for a moment. Mr. Barnes was gone. That infuriating, silly, heedless . . . thoughtful, sweet, dear man had died alone in the freezing water. When a sudden pang of anguish tore through her stomach, fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

Was she never to thank him for helping her out of trouble with that stupid brooch? For apologizing to her by mending her book? For being the one to come and find her; to save her life? And now, when her dad could get back on his feet again because that infuriating, silly, heedless, thoughtful, sweet, dear man had willed her every item in his meager possession and given her a way to provide for her father? How she wanted-no, _needed_ to throw her arms around his neck and kiss his hand, kiss his cheek, and thank him from the depths of her heart.

Her thoughts were cut short by the approaching voice of the officer from the rescue boat.

"Only two more. They're alive for now. Let's get them into these boats and warmed up."

Not but a few moments later her heart erupted into her throat as a voice she recognized as Lady Georgiana's exclaimed, "Barnes!"

She felt her face go slack as her whole body stilled. With her heart thrumming in her chest, she turned and nearly launched herself into the neighboring boat, scrambling over feet, legs, and blankets. There, curled up in the middle of the boat, was a shivering, blessedly alive Mr. Barnes. She immediately turned to Her Ladyship, who held a bottle of brandy. Without a word she grabbed the bottle and with the help of one of the officers hoisted Mr. Barnes up against the side of the boat, then lifted the bottle to his parted lips. After a short fit of coughing, his eyes opened just enough that she could catch his gaze.

"Miss . . . Watson," he rasped, the faintest of smiles on his lips. "Mabel."

She couldn't help the grin that burst onto her face or the stray tears that trailed down her cheeks.

"Yes, Mr. Barnes, it's me. You're safe. You're safe now."

At that his eyes closed again, and she shrugged out of her coat before moving to drape it across his front, situating herself beside him. She drew him into her arms, suddenly dreadfully aware of the icy chill of his skin. She laid her cheek against his cool forehead. Someone, perhaps Lady Georgiana, settled a blanket over them both. By some miracle Mr. Barnes was there, breathing and shivering against her side. Alive. He wouldn't die tonight; he simply couldn't.

* * *

It seemed the eerie calm and dark nothingness of the ocean should've slowed time, but it was as though the hands on an invisible clock kept ticking away, pushed ahead by the agonizing cold, and her worry for Mr. Barnes's health only grew. There was no sign of anything for miles on the flat, black water. No one spoke, and the clear, starlit sky provided just enough light to illuminate each breath they exhaled into the crisp air. He was still shivering madly, and the fine layer of ice that had frozen over his once-soaked hair bit into her numb ear.

Suddenly a shout from an officer caught her attention.

"There, look! A ship!" He stood and leaned against the bow of the boat, waving a flashlight in the air.

Around her arose quiet exclamations and soft cries of relief as a she let out a staggered sigh.

"There, you see, Mr. Barnes? They've come for us," she gasped as she scrubbed her hands up and down his arm. Her heart thrummed as another rocket shot off from afar, bringing with it the small speck of the outline of a ship.

"We're going to be alright now."

* * *

She eventually roused Mr. Barnes enough to prepare him for the incoming ship, and through sheer determination he was able to pull himself up a rope ladder and climb aboard the _Carpathia_. Women and children were off first, allowing her to be stationed to meet him at the top. Names were taken and Blankets thrown over their shoulders. Seemingly unconsciously, and perhaps for warmth, Mr. Barnes's arm found its way around her shoulders as they and the family made their way through a large throng of weary survivors to an area for First Class passengers.

Numb as she was, Mabel couldn't stop her heart from ripping open at the sight of so many survivors, almost solely women, walking around the ship calling frantically for their husbands, lovers, fathers, friends, family . . . The little children were so terribly confused and frightened, and simply gripped their mothers' hands. Their tiny faces, so full of fear and uncertainty, were irrevocably etched onto her heart. She pressed closer to Mr. Barnes's side.

The next few hours passed through a haze. Every last survivor was checked by Carpathia's doctor, hot soup and drink were handed out, and at last Mabel found herself in a cabin with another lady's maid who had managed to escape _Titanic_ , as well as two _Carpathia_ passengers. After ensuring he had enough warmth and bedding, she had left Mr. Barnes in his cabin along with strict orders for his cabin mates to inform her immediately if his condition changed. He'd passed the doctor's inspection with his only comments being to keep warm, and was left with the warning that he would likely feel exhausted upon waking. There would be no lasting damage. She was grateful for that.

It was dark now in her cabin, the only sounds those of the soft snoring from the bunk above her, and the ever present hum of the ship's engines. She turned in her bed to face the wall, pressed her face into the pillow, and finally allowed herself to cry.

* * *

 _April 16, 1912_

 _Mabel. Mabel._

Had he really called her Mabel? Out loud? To write it in a farewell letter was one thing, but to call her _Mabel_ . . . to her face . . . It was more embarrassing than anything, really. Then again, the past twenty-four hours were a bit of a blur. Perhaps he'd just dreamt it. After all, that's a bit what that time had felt like: one very heated fever dream. Well, either that or being absolutely piss drunk.

He blinked at the white bottom of the bunk above him. The doctor had said he'd be fine, but there was something definitely wrong with him. He bloody well almost died not a day before, and all he could think about was Miss Watson. He couldn't help himself, though. What would she have to say about that letter? He knew he still wanted to give her father the money from that little house-knew it as if it was the most simple solution in the world. And . . . blimey. What was he even supposed to say to her? When he gave her that letter, he'd all but choked on the things he wanted to tell her, which were-well, he didn't quite know, exactly. It had been as if his heart was full to bursting, but it didn't know how to tell his brain what words to say. The only thing he was certain of was that he'd never felt any true pain like that he felt at the thought of never seeing Mabel Watson again.

 _Mabel._

He smiled to himself. It really was a lovely name.

* * *

Mabel pulled herself from the last tendrils of sleep with a sigh, the recent slamming of bolt in lock telling her that the other women had left for breakfast. As she placed her bare feet on the floor and searched for her shoes and stockings, it was with a slight pang that the events of the previous day flooded back into her thoughts. She had to see Mr. Barnes. Everything else could wait. After her fingers nimbly pinned her hair in place, she strode out the door towards the cabin she had visited the night before.

As she turned the corner of a rather long corridor, Mabel gave a soft gasp as she collided into a fleshy wall of black and white, who in return gently grabbed her elbows. Looking up, she was surprised to lock eyes with the object of her mission.

"Mab-Miss Watson," he said with a shake of his head, letting her go as if his fingers were scorched.

"Mr. Barnes, I was just on my way to find you. I thought you could do with a good breakfast."

"Well, that's a lucky thing, since I was leaving to do just that."

She let her eyes trail across his face. He looked perfectly fine, if a bit pale.

"And . . . how are you feeling?"she asked.

"I suppose I'm alright now. And I don't think I've ever slept so hard in my life. Like a bally rock, I did."

She couldn't help returning that boyish grin of his as he moved to walk beside her. They strode down the hall at a leisurely pace, and quite without warning a singular thought reminded her of the moment when only a little over twenty-four hours ago she'd thought she'd never see him again. She desperately needed to speak to him concerning that, but now wasn't the time.

"Have you spoken with the family yet? Will they be needing us before we get to New York?

"I have. His Lordship were doing well last I saw him, and we're both under strict orders to rest and spend our time however we please until we arrive in New York. " She met his eyes with a smile. "And they all send you their very best wishes."

"That's nice. Though something tells me it's not so much for our benefit as for theirs."

At her sidelong glance, Mr. Barnes put his hands in the air, palms forward and fingers spread out like he was going to teach a child how to count. "I'm only saying that I don't blame them. If I had just survived a sinking ship and a night in the freezing north Atlantic, which I can personally say I have,-" this time he met her sideways glance with an infuriating twinkle in his eyes,"- then I'd only want to be with the people I care about as well."

 _And the people I care about . . . is you_ , she almost thought he would say. She shook her head. Where in blue blazes had _that_ come from?

* * *

Kenneth poked his head in the dining room for the second time and glanced around the tables. Still no luck. He'd practically made a once-over of the entire ship looking for the woman, and he could only be thankful in this instance that the _Carpathia_ was nowhere near the mammoth size of _Titanic_.

Miss Watson had been particularly subdued at breakfast that morning, which he guessed was understandable given the circumstances. So, after assuring herself of his wellbeing, she'd retreated to her room and left Kenneth to his own devices for the majority of the day. There was really only so much one could do and places one could walk on a small ship without any means of one's own entertainment, so Kenneth stepped into the classroom at the school of thought. He walked and thought, sat and thought, leaned and thought, laid and thought. Unwittingly or not, his thoughts often jumped back to Miss Watson. Again. Which he found rather unsurprising at this point. In particular, whether Miss Watson had read his letter and why his stomach felt like it got punched up into his throat every time he thought about her. So, after luncheon and tea had come and passed without seeing hide nor hair of her, Kenneth nicked a couple bread rolls, stuffed them into a pocket inside his coat, and went off in search of her.

He now found himself out on the port side of the boat deck, his nose starting to feel rather numb. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked out over the vast blackness of the Atlantic as he made his way down the deck. When he pulled his head back around to puff a bit of hot air into his hands he spotted a figure in a familiar brown coat and hat down by the stern.

It would make sense that the very last place on the ship he checked for Miss Watson was where he'd find her. He hadn't the slightest clue why she'd want to be hanging about the stern of the boat deck when it was right bloomin' freezing out. He must've caught her off guard, as she started a bit when he spoke her name.

"Mr. Barnes!" She looked him up and down, her eyes catching on his thin shirt. You shouldn't be out here till you're better. You'll catch cold."

He waved away her chiding and leaned against the railing beside her, pulling his coat tightly across his chest before crossing his arms against the biting chill of the night air.

"Don't worry yourself over me. I wouldn't deserve it." He managed to coax a small smile onto her lips. She was silent for a moment.

"Are you well, Mr. Barnes? Truly?"

He couldn't bypass the directness of her question, and after a soft sigh said, "I'm tired, mostly. Feel like I just took a hike up Ben Nevis," he finished with a cheeky grin. For a moment he struggled internally upon whether to go into more detail, but decided on a more roundabout answer. Damn it all, but his brain and heart really couldn't catch up with one another. The rest would have to keep. Anway, he couldn't add to her worry.

"I'll be right as rain soon enough. Don't you worry a bit over me." A short silence settled over them, and he cleared his throat. "Now, what was that deep thought I interrupted you from just now?"

Miss Watson took a moment to gather her thoughts as she sighed and looked out over the water before facing him. Her lips parted and closed again before she started speaking.

"Mr. Barnes, I wanted to say how sincerely I must thank you."

Kenneth wanted to stop her, but the depth of the genuine gratitude in her face left him gaping at her like a fish.

"Please don't speak. Let me just get this out."

He nodded mutely.

"Just in the past five days you've shown me more kindness than anyone, aside from my dad, has shown me in my whole life." Her wide brown eyes darted between his. "True kindness, that is. You helped me out of that entire mess with Her Ladyship's brooch at risk of your own position if they'd found out you were involved. You took the time to mend that page from my book that I made such a fuss over . . . and you took such care with it. And that night, when the ship sank and I got locked in my cabin-" she paused a moment. "You were the only one who came back for me, and nearly took the door down to get me out." A small smile curved on her lips before fading again. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be standing here now. You saved my life, Mr. Barnes. But so much happened in the moment that I couldn't see it, and I will forever hate myself for getting in that boat without telling you." She looked down and took a deep breath through her nose before continuing. He could feel what was coming next.

"The last kindness I have to thank you for-that I must thank you for-is what was in that letter you gave me. I could never even begin to repay you simply for the thought of what you wanted to give my dad." She shook her head minutely, almost in disbelief, as her eyes grew faintly glassy. "Comfort, stability, a future . . . " she trailed off and looked to the ocean. Before he could react, she turned back and slowly untangled one of his hands. Grasping it gently in her gloved fingers, she lowered her head and touched her lips to the back of his suddenly limp hand.

"So it's for all these reasons that I must thank you, Kenneth Barnes, if I may, from the bottom of my heart."

For a moment Kenneth's brain failed to connect or respond to any and all motor function, so he stood quite motionless and speechless for what was likely a half second too long. Miss Watson released his hand, and the loss of contact brought his brain back to working order. He cleared his throat, not quite trusting himself to speak, and found her gaze, forcing a grin onto his face.

"I know that I'll have my neck wrung if I dare to say that I deserve none of that, or that you're the last person in this world who should ever think ill of yourself on my account."

He barely kept down a fond laugh when a look of indignance began spreading across her face and instead schooled his features, needing her to believe what he was about to say.

"But for all that, you must know that I'll keep those words with me always."

Her face lit in a wonderful, soft smile, which he was powerless but to return.

"And speaking of, that reminds me of what I came up here to find you for."

"And what's that?"

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, now that I'm still here I don't want anything to change. That is . . . I'd like you and your father to take a share of what I make off the letting of that house."

"Mr. Barnes, I-" he cut her off.

"It would make me very happy. Please. You can think of it as amends for what happened to your book."

She quickly shook her head. "I already told you, I made such a fuss over it. It's just a book. And besides, you already mended it so wonderfully. I won't take your own money."

"I promise you it wouldn't be any burden on me. And besides, I've no real need of it at the moment," he added with a small smile, resting his hand on her arm. "Miss Watson, please. Let me do this one thing for you."


End file.
